"It is the jolliest day!" exclaimed Tom, dashing into the breakfast-room from an early morning run half over the parish. "People are slipping about like mad, and the ice is inches thick on the ponds. Old Joe Styles went right down on his back." "I hope he was not hurt, Tom," remarked papa, coming down from his chamber into the room in time to hear the last sentence. "Good-morning, my boys." "Oh, it was only a Christmas gambol, sir," said Tom carelessly. We sat down to breakfast. Leah came in to see to me and Tom. The Rector might be--and was--efficient in his parish and pulpit, but a more hopelessly incapable man in a domestic point of view the world never saw. Tom and I should have come badly off had we relied upon him to help us, and we might have gobbled up every earthly thing on the table without his saying yea or nay. Leah, knowing this, stood to pour out the coffee. Mrs. Strange had gone away to London on Wednesday (the day after Christmas Day) to see an old aunt who was ill, and had taken Blanche with her. This was Friday, and they were expected home again on the morrow. Presently Tom, who was observant in his way, remarked that papa was taking nothing. His coffee stood before him untouched; some bacon lay neglected on his plate. "Shall I cut you some thin bread and butter, sir?" asked Leah. "Presently," said he, and went on doing nothing as before. "What are you thinking of, papa?" "Well, Charley, I--I was thinking of my dream," he answered. "I suppose it _was_ a dream," he went on, as if to himself. "But it was a curious one." "Oh, please tell it us!" I cried. "I dreamt on Christmas night that I had a splendid plum-cake, and was cutting it up into slices." "Well--it was towards morning," he said, still speaking in a dreamy sort of way, his eyes looking straight out before him as if he were recalling it, yet evidently seeing nothing. "I awoke suddenly with the sound of a voice in my ear. It was your mamma's voice, Charley; your own mother's; and she seemed to be standing at my bedside. 'I am coming for you,' she said to me--or seemed to say. I was wide awake in a moment, and knew her voice perfectly. Curious, was it not, Leah?" Leah, cutting bread and butter for Tom, had halted, loaf in one hand, knife in the other. "Yes, sir," she answered, gazing at the Rector. "Did you _see_ anything, sir?" "No; not exactly," he returned. "I was conscious that whoever spoke to me, stood close to my bedside; and I was also conscious that the figure retreated across the room towards the window. I cannot say that I absolutely saw the movement; it was more like some unseen presence in the room. It was very odd. Somehow I can't get it out of my head---- Why, here's Mr. Penthorn!" he broke off to say.